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Motherhood in Correspondence

My favorite finds in the archives that have been related to my project have taken me in directions that I was not initially planning on exploring. Although I recognize that the undercurrent of my projects on forms of care and spirituality will tie in themes of familial relationships and motherhood specifically, I think Zake’s letters pushed me to explore this facet more. In one folder alone, I was able to find three separate letters from Ntozake to her mother that gave a really crucial insight to the way their relationship has grown and changed over time. In the same way, letters that her daughter has written to her grandmother and the way Zake engages her daughter in her letter illuminates that relationship, which shows the lineage and texture of these relationships in the way Ntozake does through her characters. In the first letter I read, which was the one that really drew me to my topic to begin with, was this really magnetic letter she wrote to her parents in October of ’86, discussing some time she spent in a mental hospital (or, the “crazy house” as she calls it) and reassuring her parents of her renewed stability. Here, the letter feels a bit distant as it’s s quite short, which felt to me like the equivalent of a phone call with your parents at home where you try to decide how much to tell them, how much you can let them into your life without worrying them or yourself. Her sense of humor about the whole situation is both introspective and eloquent, as she jokes with her parents “you see, wonders never cease—you get better & stay crazy…”. Almost five years later, you see that this distance has created tension, as she writes a letter to her mother about a time that Zake had stayed with her for a few days and evidently was causing some drama. She writes to apologize (again) for her behavior, which shows equally the strain on the relationship and the investment she has in making it work anyways. Even further down the line, Zake sends a letter to her mother begging her not to reveal Savannah’s true father to her when they visit, showing that she has allowed her mother in her life in some capacity and is trusting her with very sensitive information. A few years after that, there were some documents that suggested that her mother Eloise was trying to help support her financially after she seemed to have filed for bankruptcy and written some checks with insufficient funds. The documents were addressed to her mother and not Zake though they were about Zake’s finances, which suggested to me that her mother just decided to take over or Zake asked for her help. Perhaps this is a sign of progress, or just tracing the ups and downs of that relationship and Zake’s struggles in general, but the pieces that I got helped me to thread a timeline of their relationship a bit better. Savannah’s correspondence with her grandmother shows another relationship entirely, one simply of love in her youth, and her handwriting and style reminded me a bit of Zake. This female lineage traced through correspondence shows the ways that motherhood changes and adapts with both mother and child, and the way that both learn to show love in the ways they know how. It also emphasized this ancestral sisterhood, this hope to never forget that there were so many women who came before.

 

 

Scan 1: letter after stay in mental hospital.

Scan 2: letter from Zake to her mother apologizing for her behavior.

 

 

Scan 3. a card from Savannah to her grandmother. noted: emphasis on this one. reminded me of the title for colored girls.

what’s in a name?

If you were to ask me to list all of the things I identify as — “black”, “woman”, “queer”, “writer”, etc., I think the word “feminist” would follow sometime after the word “tall”. “Feminist” is not an identifier I readily think of as something that defines me. This is not because I don’t believe in a movement that combats the subjugation and devaluing of women globally. Or because I’m not forced to face the devaluing of my own womanhood on a daily basis. I don’t even think it’s because of the history of feminism as a movement that centers the issues of middle-class straight white women, although that may be a contributing factor.

I think my disconnect from the word “feminism” is that it feels like it forces a singularity. I am “woman and”, rather than both of my identities of blackness and womanhood existing simultaneously. I think in a way, I have “chosen” blackness. This is because when I am around black people, I am black and a woman. When I step outside of my community, I feel like I have to choose. In the eyes of “women of color” I am a woman. In front of “white women”, I am black. It is only in black spaces that I feel like both of these identities can inform and live together, especially in the presence of other black women.  I identify more with the idea that I am a black person who is a woman, than a woman who is black.

That being said, I don’t see blackness as something above my womanhood. The spaces I seek out and participate in are those that center black womanhood. The relationships with women I prioritize are with other black women and femmes, not black men. If I were to identify as something relating to radical work to uplift women, I would identify as a “womanist”, like Alice Walker. In her words explaining womanism, she states that a womanist is someone who is: “A woman who loves other women, sexually and/or nonsexually. Appreciates and prefers women’s culture, women’s emotional flexibility … and women’s strength. … Committed to survival and wholeness of entire people”. Like Walker, I believe in black women’s, and women of color’s, socialization of being a site of care and healing as possessing profound tools to heal the world and ourselves.This is what i would also use for the radical women of the 1970s/80s.

Even so, I feel like my activism is something I live, not something I necessarily have to name. In that, I would identify as a black woman who prioritizes the healing and care of other black women. I don’t find that the naming of “feminism” makes others more visible to me. Instead, it makes those who carry the values and beliefs I do about radical healing invisible to me. The word “Feminist” groups us all together, making it unclear what we all stand for.